


Look Around, Look Around

by martial_quill



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton and Peggy! A Revolutionary Friendship
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/M, Hamilton In Space, Peggy Saving the Day, The Schuyler Sisters At Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martial_quill/pseuds/martial_quill
Summary: Summary: Angelica’s always been the oldest and the wittiest, able to go toe-to-toe with anybody. Eliza started reading through her aunt’s anatomy books at the age of nine. And Peggy? Well, she learned the business of canals and cows and ships at her Daddy’s knee.Or, Hamilton in space. Valley Forge, but with a crucial difference: women are in the sequel.





	1. A Mind At Work

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Oceans and Moments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14150982) by [Mephistophelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mephistophelia/pseuds/Mephistophelia). 



## Chapter 1: A Mind at Work

“Schuyler. Schuyler. Peggy. _Peggy.”_

The knock on the door of her bunk wakes her from her sleep.

"Mmph? Wha’?” she manages, blinking. She can’t see a damn thing.

“We need you in the engine room,” her Captain, Gina Toscano, says urgently. “C’mon.”

She pulls on her jumper and buckles on the holster, the action drilled into her from endless training exercises that all Independent soldiers had to do thanks to Lafayette’s innovations, and climbs the rungs of the ladder until she’s in the corridor of the ship. Toscano takes a step back to avoid an embarrassing collision.

_"All personnel to the stations. Repeat, all personnel to the stations."_

She gulps. She’d known there was a risk in leaving her home, but she’d never really anticipated that her service would actually lead to her using the gun strapped to her thigh.

“Captain, what’s going on?”

“We’re being pursued by an Imperialist ship,” Toscano says bluntly. “I need you in the engine room. We might need to go for full burn.”

Peggy doesn’t bother to continue the conversation, just sprints down the corridor into the engine room. _Full burn_  would put all of the ship’s resources to the limit, push  _SMN_ _Égalité_ to a place where it’d be a struggle to get to Valley Forge, the town on Hera where Washington desperately needed the supplies they were carrying. The same planet where her father was back in Albany, coordinating counterintelligence for the entire Independence Movement.

“Peggy. You up?”

The voice of the ship’s pilot, Kay Baldwin, came through the speakers, loud and clear.

“This better be good, Kay,” Peggy teases as she slides into the engine room. “A girl needs her beauty sleep, y’know.”

“You think we’re up for a crazy Ivan?” he asks, ignoring her attempt at humour. Which alone tells her how serious the situation is.

Peggy freezes, goosebumps prickling on her skin under her jumper. “They’re that close?”

_"Focus."_

“Right, yeah,” she says, clearing her throat and turning her attention back to the control panel. The lights wink at her merrily. She checks the fuel gauge. It’ll be tight, but…

_If they catch us, they take the supplies as well._

“We can make it. Captain’s call,” she says.

“Do it,” Toscano says, without a trace of hesitation in her voice.

Peggy grabs her pliers and opens the port jack control.

“ _Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now!_

 _Look around, look around, how lucky are we to be alive right now!"_ she sings as she works. She can’t help but think of Eliza, as she cuts red and blue cord after red and blue cord. The way her hands would fly over the piano in their father’s house, the one that he’d built for them. The way her and Angelica’s voices would meld in the most exquisite harmonies. Peggy was alright, but Eliza and Angelica, they were euphonious. No other word could describe the beauty of their voices.

“Peggy. Status?”

“Hydraulics are cut,” she says, “I’m heading for the press regulator now.”

The overhead levers would need to be pulled down, but only at the time when Kay specified.

“Ready for the Ivan on your mark,” Peggy says, her hand settling on the blue lever. She has to go onto her toes to reach it.

An agonizing silence throughout the ship.

“At will, Kay,” the Captain says.

 _How is she so calm?_ Peggy wonders. Her heart feels like it’s going to leap out of her chest.

“Everybody, hold onto something,” Kay says. “ _Now.”_

She yanks _down_  with all her strength, and the ship explodes under her feet, floor turning gold and lighting up, accelerating faster, faster,  _faster_ , until–

Deceleration, as sudden as the acceleration was.

“Good job,” she mumbles. “Good job, _Égal.”_ She takes a deeper breath, recovering from the adrenaline rush. “That’s why they call it a crazy Ivan, huh?” she asks.

Kay laughs, humour restored. “Miss Peggy, _that_  is why they call it a crazy Ivan.”

“Good job, everybody. Looks like we’ve left them in the dust. Return to your normal schedule,” Toscano says, but Peggy can hear the smile in her voice.

Still, Peggy knows damn well she’s not going to be able to sleep after that.

_I still need to finish that letter to Angelica._

* * *

_Angelica,_

_I hope you’re in good spirits and in good health as you read this. We’re soon to arrive in Hera, but we must have attracted notice, because we were pursued by an Imperialist ship at about three clicks after we passed Mars. We ended up pulling a crazy Ivan to evade them. God bless our pilot. And, of course, our engineer._

_The ship lit up from the inside out. Now I really get why they call it a Firefly._

_Yes, of course I’ll update you on the conditions in Valley Forge. Assuming Eliza hasn’t done so already,_   _and_ _you aren’t receiving reports. Honestly, Angelica, you’re on the General’s staff. I’d think you’d be the first to know how things are going. Certainly before a mere mechanical engineer._

_Everyone aboard is well, and still high from the adrenaline rush. We’re a bit of a bunch of misfits: a mechanic with no training whatsoever except for her Daddy’s old lessons; a crazy flier who used to pilot a brothel; and the Captain – well, I’m sure she’s got her own story. My bet is that it’s a lost family. There are lots of women like that in Hera now, after all, with haunted eyes and smiles that are worn purely out of politeness. It’s weird that manners are the last thing to go, for some of us. Still, for the Movement, it’s all hands on deck. What was it that Reverend Morton used to say? “If you have the chance to give water to a dying man, you do not question whether your hands are too rough or too bloodied to help.” The old man had a point._

_I was worried about how I’d go, being off-world for so long. I’ve been in and out of ships since I was a toddler, yes, but never as part of the crew, always with Eliza and Papa and sometimes you, Angelica, when you weren’t too busy with your philosophy lessons. Still, I find that I’m settling in well. The pilot and I have struck up a friendship, of sorts, the Captain has nerves of steel and is always very calm, and the other girls – six of us, all told, guarding the supplies – are friendly enough. The Persephonian girls are very good with their guns, and in hand-to-hand combat, and insist on teaching me. It’s a small duty, which makes me pray very earnestly that our ship is never boarded, or, God forbid, captured._

_On the whole, though, I’m relieved that I volunteered as a mechanic. I’m certainly better at it than I am at being a debutante. I’ll leave playing at Charm and Beauty to you and Eliza._

_I think of you all the time, Angie. Stay well, stay safe, and knock ‘em dead._

_All my love,_

_Peggy_

* * *

They dock at Valley Forge. Peggy wraps up warm. She knows the winter well, and prepares accordingly. Boots, with two socks underneath. Her warmest pair of pants. Long-sleeved shirt, jumper, and parka over the top. Plus a scarf and gloves.

She looks in the little compact Angelica gave her. Her face is mostly covered by the scarf, except for the bridge of her nose and her eyes peeking out, dark brown irises that are a little bloodshot from the late night.

 _Well, can’t be helped,_  she thinks, before she shakes her head in amusement at her own vanity. _It’s a war, nincompoopa_ , she can almost hear her uncle saying. She climbs up the rungs of the ladder to the deck, where the other girls are already stacking the crates onto the tractor, which will drive the goods to the quartermaster.

Venus, one of the Persephonian girls, titters at the sight of her.

“Rita! Are you in there somewhere?”

Because _Peggy_  was apparently too difficult to pronounce if you were from Persephone.

She yanks the scarf down a little further, enough to stick her tongue out at Venus, and say, “Laugh it up, Venus. At least I won’t freeze.”

Venus’ sister Minerva laughs easily, as Peggy joins her to lift the next crate. “Marguerite has learned to bite!”

“I had a good teacher,” Peggy shoots back, as they settle the crate onto its stack. The rest of the crates are stacked in short order, and she takes a moment to look at it. It’s seems like such a small thing, but…

 Twenty ingots, stacked on top of each other in six layers. 120 ingots per box. Each ingot enough to feed a ten-man squad of soldiers for two weeks. Six boxes, all told. The supplies that General Washington and his soldiers needed so badly. There was another ship, surely; the Persephonian ambassadors wouldn’t be willing to just let their supplies go all in one ship. What if it had gotten boarded?

_Angelica would never be so careless._

She shakes her head. Not important.

“Roll call!” the Captain calls, as she goes through the crew. They form a single rank, as she walks past them, one by one, coming to Peggy at the end. When all of them are checked off, she smiles.

“Good work,” she says. “The importance of what we’ve done can’t be understated. Yeah, some people will call you REMFs. Don’t believe ‘em. An Army can’t keep its balance without its tail. Logistics, supplies, all of these things are crucial. Venus, Cosette, Kay, you and I are going to stay here as a skeleton guard. We don’t anticipate an attack. The rest of you are granted three days of planetside leave. Report back here at 0600, on the 9th. Got it?”

They nod. They’re still using the Gregorian calendar; it’s the standard one used throughout Hera. 

“Schuyler,” the Captain looks at her, as she stands beside her. “You know the encampment the best here, except for me. You and I are going to take the provisions to the quartermaster and sign off there.”

She salutes. “Yes, Captain.”

The Captain smirks. “At ease, grease monkey.”

Peggy winces. “That bad?”

The Captain pats her on the shoulder. “You’re not drilled as a soldier. I don’t expect you to throw a proper salute. So long as you know how to fix my engine, throw a punch, and shoot a gun.”

Peggy grins, as she climbs onto the tractor. The ship’s landing door winds down into the snow, and she flicks the key into the ignition. “Lessgo.”

* * *

The encampment isn’t as bad as it had sounded, she thinks. Yes, the men desperately need food, and there are lots of hungry eyes following them. There’s illness; she thinks of the immunization supplements in the ingots, and winces.

“Let’s hope they’re not too late,” she mumbles.

Still. Not as bad as many of the rumours were saying. There was still hope.

The Captain squeezes her shoulder. “Remember why you’re doing this.”

She takes a deep breath and nods, turning right into the command area of the encampment. _My sisters. My home._

Although admittedly, that wasn’t the only reason she’d packed up and left home, responding to her sister’s advice that there was need for mechanics at the war-front. And clever, cunning, sweet Eliza had known it too. After Fleury’s fuckboy antics, she’d needed to get away; needed to be useful beyond just helping her father manage things at home.

With a start, she realises that this is the first time she’s thought of Fleury in ages.

“You alright, Schuyler?”

“I’m fine, Captain,” she says with a smile. “Straight to the quartermaster.”

It’s another left, she’s pretty sure, and then a r– aha, there it is. The distinctive green _Q_  stitched into the brown cloth curtain of the cabin.

She flicks the key in the ignition and pulls up, jumping into the snow and landing ankle-deep. It’s still cold; not quite freezing, but not much above it either, cold enough that she’s regretting not putting the beanie on as well. There was a _reason_  she’d always called Angelica crazy for liking winter best of all.

“And you’re _sure_  that the shipment is coming in today, Laf?”

Ah, there he is. No wonder Eliza talked about his attempts at being a panopticon. What was a military strategy aide doing overseeing a shipment of supplies _in person_ _?_  It made no sense unless you knew Alexander Hamilton himself, who would leave nothing to chance if he had his way.

“I have the communiqué from Rochambeau _right here_ , Alexander,” someone else responds, presumably the mysterious Laf. It sounds more like ‘ear’, a slight discomfort with the ‘h’ sound that leads to the words being elided. “Would you please calm down? Monsieur Reynolds is perfectly capable–”

“I’m overseeing this–”

 _Alright, best cut this off,_ Peggy decides, knocking on the door. Once, twice.

“No, I’ll get it, I’m closest, Monsieur–”

The door opens. “Yes?”

"Hi. We brought supplies?” Peggy says with a smile, as she looks up and – oh. “Good to see you again, Major-General Lafayette.”

His eyebrows bounce up. “Have we met?”

She sticks out a gloved hand. “Private Peggy Schuyler, engineer for SMN  _Égalité._ You stayed with my father last year. We come bearing food supplies from Persephone?”

A brilliant grin spreads across his face, and _fuck_ , she’d forgotten how handsome he was, especially when he smiled, even with a face much leaner from rationed food.

“Private Schuyler, you are most welcome,” he says, grabbing his coat. “Come, let’s get them inside. _Alexandre!_  Get your ass out here!”

She chuckles at the look an Alex’s face. “Hi, Alex.”

He gapes, recognising her instantly even under all of her layers. “You didn’t say you were assigned to the supply crew.”

She smirks. “You didn’t ask.”

After the supplies are stowed inside, their names are signed off against the quartermaster’s book and Hamilton’s book – oh, _Alex_ , she thinks, shaking her head fondly – the marquis rubs his hands together gleefully.

“Hamilton, _viens_. We should go tell the general. And you should come too, Captain Toscano, Private Schuyler.”

Go to _General Washington?_  She’s never met _the_ General before. Generals, yes. General Washington, no. She swallows, nervous at the thought, suddenly, but she glances at the Captain. Besides a raise of her eyebrows, Toscano doesn’t flinch.

“If you believe it will not be an imposition, Major-General,” she says.

Lafayette’s grin is wild. “Trust me, _mon capitan_ , you will be received with delight.”

Peggy takes the wheel.

“Captain, do you mind if I take the front? I’m afraid my little sister and I haven’t seen each other in some time.”

“Not your little sister until you put a ring on it, Alex,” Peggy says, unable to repress herself.

That earns her a stern look from her Captain, a mortified one from Alex, and a delighted one from Lafayette. The last one sends heat to her neck.

Oh, _dammit_. No. No, of all the ridiculously unattainable crushes to develop, one on the  _Marquis de Lafayette_  surely took the cake.

“By all means, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” Toscano says.

Peggy lets out a sigh of relief, and flicks the key in the ignition as Toscano and Lafayette climb into the back of the tractor.

“How’s Liz? Holding up alright?” Peggy asks.

“You know, it’s funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing about Angelica,” Alexander says with a smile.

“Don’t deflect, Alex. I want an update.”

He throws up his hands. “She’s well. Not sleeping all that much, but then, none of us are. If you have any coffee, I suspect she’ll sell you her soul for some of that.”

“Eliza’s soul will just make a jailbreak once it’s sold,” Peggy snorts. “It’s a bad deal to try buying it off.”

That brings a startled laugh from Hamilton’s throat. “I’ve missed your approach to metaphor, I admit. Although I was wondering how long you were here for?”

“Three days’ shore leave,” Peggy says. “Then a new assignment. Whoever needs an engineer most.”

“Hmm. That’s good to know. I may require your help with something.”

“Like what?”

“Promise to keep your voice down?”

She shoots him an unimpressed look. “I will make no such promises.”

" _Peggy."_

“Alright, alright."

“I was wondering if you would help me arrange a proposal suitable for your sister.”

It takes all of her self-control to refrain from something _very_  dangerous with the wheel.

_"Really?”_

“Shhh! Keep your voice down!”

“I will not keep my voice down! You’re lucky I’m keeping this tractor on the road!” she retorts.

“ _Prends pitié de nous,_  Private Schuyler,” Lafayette implores.

“ _Bah, si vous demandez, Major-Général,”_ she replies, unable to suppress a smile. So. He remembered that she spoke French well enough to interpret. That was something.

She glances back to Alex, and there’s a speculative edge to his glance that she’s not sure she likes.

“You’re serious?”

Alex lets out a sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Have you written to our father? Asked his blessing?”

“Yes. He also has a letter to you for you. But I wanted to know how to do it, how it’s done. I’m going to guess the traditions are a little different from Saint Croix."

“A little,” Peggy admits with a smile. “But I don’t think Eliza will care, so long as you ask.”

“I know. But I want to do it _right_.”

Peggy grins at him. “I guess you will, then.”

* * *

“Captain Toscano,” the General greets warmly. His smile is warm, amazingly sincere considering all the pressure he’s under, and his eyes are delighted from the news of the shipment. “Thank you for your service.”

Toscano salutes. Peggy does as well. “Thank you, sir."

The General’s eyes skim her briefly. “I believe I know you, miss.”

“General Washington, if I may?” Alexander steps forward. “My friend, Private Margaret Schuyler, daughter of General Philip Schuyler, part of our Engineering Corps.”

“And related to the good doctors, no doubt,” Washington says, comprehension instantly dawning. “Private, I must thank you and your family as well.”

Peggy smiles and nods. “Thank you, sir.”

“At ease, both of you,” Washington says gently. “Captain, may we offer you anything? Private, no doubt you would like to see your sister.”

Peggy nods, stamping down on the familiar spark of curiosity that had always driven her to eavesdrop on whatever she could as a child. _Need-to-know._

“She’s with General Wayne’s brigade, drilling,” Lafayette says. “I’ll take her.”

A raised eyebrow from Washington, but then he nods. “Does that suit, Private?”

She flushes. “Well, I – I wouldn’t like to detain the Marquis, if you need him here.”

“Nonsense,” the Marquis says cheerfully, “if I am cooped up here much longer, our commander will be obliged to knock me out to give himself a moment’s peace.”

That drew a hasty cough from Washington, and Lafayette grins, before bowing. “Your Excellency.”

“Don’t delay too long, Lafayette,” Washington says, with something like a laugh in his voice.

 _What the hell is going on?_  Peggy wonders.

Lafayette holds the door open for her to leave the Headquarters, and it’s back into the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French used: 
> 
> "Hamilton, viens." = Hamilton, come. 
> 
> "mon capitan" = my captain (in the sense of 'my lady'; an honorific) 
> 
> "Prends pitié de nous, Private Schuyler." = "Have mercy on us, Private Schuyler!" 
> 
> "Bah, si vous demandez, Major-Général." = "Well, if you ask, Major-General." Think tones of 'well, if it's /you/, Major General.' Peggy, babe, you're not as subtle as you wish. 
> 
>  Note 1: None of the mechanics of this will make any sense, because I’m a creative writing major who can’t assemble a piece of IKEA furniture writing a mechanic. Kthxbai. 
> 
> Note 2: God bless Firefly.
> 
> Note 2.5: This started as a Firefly fusion, because Firefly's space system, but on the other hand, I want them to win, so...yeah.
> 
> Note 3: I’m on my period and grumpy. On the other hand, creativity spikes are **f u n. ******


	2. Sunshine Patriot

She can’t help but stare at the camp. The snow drifting from the forest, the hazes of smoke from campfires in the distance. Gunpowder and munitions and pine trees in her nose, and snowflakes on her tongue. Washington’s quarters are only a little bit up the hill, barely a quarter of the way, which must make things a bit easier on the officers’ horses. But still, it’s enough of a view that the forest is spread out beneath them, like a vast canvas ready for painting.

“If we weren’t at war,” she mumbles. If they weren’t, she would already be grabbing her pencils and her sketchbook.

“What was that, Private?”

She flushes. She’d forgotten – somehow, dear _God,_ Peggy, you forgot the _Marquis de Lafayette_ – that he was standing next to her, waiting patiently as she stood transfixed by the view from the hill.

“I-it was nothing,” she stammers.

His eyes are very kind. “You are on leave, are you not, Private?”

“Yes,” she says, but she’s not sure she sees where he’s going with this.

“Then you should consider yourself free to relax for the few days ahead of you. Don’t let my presence influence that.”

She can’t help frowning at that. How, exactly, is she supposed to not give a damn about the fact that the Marquis de Lafayette is standing beside her?

“It’s not as though I’m your Commander,” he says, perhaps sensing her unspoken question.

...true. She’d forgotten that. As part of the Engineering Corps, she doesn’t answer to him. Not officially, anyway.

She lets out a breath. “So I don’t have to call you ‘sir’?”

He smiles. “Truth be told, if you addressed me as Gil for the next ten minutes, I’d be very grateful.”

“Gil it is,” she decides, before she has the chance to think too much about that. “Why the preference?”

He rolls his eyes. “Bah. If I’d known what came with respect, I’d have thought twice about wishing for it so much.”

“You’d prefer for the men to _not_ respect you?” she asks, a little incredulous.

“Absolutely not, I don’t wish a mutiny on my head. But – it is tiring to be put on a pedestal. Necessary, often, for the sake of good command discipline. But– I am a man also.”

She nods. She can understand that. “My Father feels the same way,” she says, as he points for them to walk north around a grove of firs. “He never says so, of course. But he does.”

“The famous Schuyler intuition,” he chuckles, hopping over a log. “How is your father?”

She smiles. “Somewhat worried about all of his eldest daughters being at the front, but otherwise, in decent health.”

“Ah? But not all of his children are here. You had another sister who was younger, no?”

“Two,” she corrects him gently. “Cornelia is sixteen. Helping our Father at home; a cadet with counterintelligence.” She regrets saying it for a second, her paranoia kicking in, and then she shakes her head. If the Independence movement can’t trust Lafayette, then they’re dead in the skies. It’s as simple as that. “My littlest sister Kitty is helping Mama run the house. Poor thing. She’s only twelve.”

Lafayette winces. “The war has made most of Hera’s children grow up fast,” he admits. There’s a sadness in his voice that makes her look at him closely. It’s not an obligatory statement. Not something he’s saying because he thinks it should be said, or she wants to hear it, like a lot of Fleury’s statements were, in hindsight. He seems to be genuinely aggrieved.

“I’ve heard some say it’s a good thing. That at least this way, they’ll grow up.” She looks at him with her eyebrows raised.

Lafayette shakes his head. “I cannot understand such a statement. I would a thousand times rather have my children never need to go to war. If the only thing that matures people is trouble, I believe there are enough other troubles in the world without wishing each generation needs to go to war.”

“Says the man who joined the military at fifteen,” she says, before wincing. Lafayette’s past is common knowledge, but that didn’t make it polite just to throw it in his face like that. Did it?

Lafayette’s smile turns wry. “I find myself incompetent at matters non-military. I shall have to have a wife who can support me with some peace-time occupation.”

She laughs, startled, and Lafayette’s smile widens, losing all of its wryness. “I wish you luck with that, s– Gil,” she amends, when he wags his gloved index finger in mock reprimand.

“I shall make the most of your blessing,” he says. “We go east now.”

She follows him, trying to keep the whirl of her thoughts off her face. Is the Marquis de Lafayette – no. No, he's not flirting. He _can't_  be flirting.

“May I ask you a question, Peggy?”

She smiles. He’s almost deferential. That’s kind of him. “Of course.”

“The first, and the most confusing one. How on earth is _Peggy_ a nickname for Marguerite _?_ ”

He still pronounces it the French way. Fair enough. The vendors in the docks at Nouvelle Lyon had flinched at her Albany accent when she haggled for her souvenirs.

“I’ve honestly got no idea,” she admits. “It just...is.”

He scowls at her. “Why is English such an entirely confusing language?”

She chuckles. “It’s not as bad as Dutch.”

He tilts his head. “How many languages do you speak, Peggy?”

“Four,” she says.

His eyes widen. “My God.”

“I preferred the nickname. Draws less attention,” she says, feeling her brain come to a halt about two seconds after she said that. Somewhere in Albany, her mother _knows_ what she just said, and is appalled.

Lafayette doesn’t seem horrified, though. Instead, laughter explodes from him, as he claps his hands.

“Oh, _bravo_! No wonder Alex and Eliza talk about you so much,” he says. “You could have been a playwright, and entranced audiences all day long.”

Peggy smirks. “Nah, that’s Angelica’s job. Everyone knows that.”

Lafayette’s eyebrows rise again, smile still hovering at his lips. “I don’t follow?” he says, ducking under a particularly low-lying branch. He has snowflakes in his hair, she realises, tearing her eyes away with difficulty.

“Angelica’s the witty enchantress, who can talk any _one_ into _anything_. Eliza’s the fierce little saint, who’d walk through fire for a patient. And I’m Peggy. The undiplomatic tomboy. Who’s very good with a wrench,” she adds, hastily, wincing at how self-pitying her initial characterisation of herself sounds.

Lafayette’s silent for a while. “Perhaps I’m overstepping, but...that rather sounds nice.”

“How do you mean?” How can pigeonholing ever be nice?

“You have a place,” he says. “You have sisters you adore – that much is obvious – and who adore you, and whose qualities complement yours and vice versa.”

She bites her lip, thinking that over.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she admits. “You’ve got a point.”

Lafayette smiles. “I often find myself wishing to strangle my brothers – you know the joke, yes? We are a little military family?”

She nods. She knows. _Everyone_ knows, much to Alex’s chagrin. A year after meeting Eliza, and Alex still doesn’t seem to understand how it’s not always a bad thing to be a child.

“Hamilton in particular. But I would not trade this for anything,” Lafayette says, smiling again. It’s softer than the one he displayed two seconds ago; it’s content.

_He’s an orphan, isn’t he? No wonder he and the General are so close._

_Dammit._ He’s handsome, he’s brilliant, he’s kind…

 _Nope. Not going there, not again_.

She smiles at him politely. “Where to next?”

It takes them another ten minutes to reach where the Brigade is drilling, and she can already hear her sister’s voice calling out triage. “No, Colonel, I assure you that your broken nose can wait. Now, if you’d be so kind.”

There’s a scream and Peggy grins, sprinting forward through the crowd of soldiers towards it, because where there’s a scream...

“ _Now_ ,” she hears Eliza order calmly, and the orderly she’s addressing looks sick as there’s a crack of a finger being popped into place.

...there is her sister.

“Eliza!”

Eliza whirls, a smile on her face already. “Peggy!”

Peggy crashes into her, knocking her to the snow. “I missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too,” Eliza wheezes. “I need to get up, though. Patients.”

Peggy wrinkles her nose, but rolls off her sister and offers her a hand up. “What do you need me to do?”

“Do you remember how to bandage a broken nose?” Eliza asks, her eyes twinkling as she gets to her feet.

Peggy grimaces. “How could I forget?”

“Start with the Colonel, then. Mostly we just have lacerations from hand-to-hand training, and they’ll fix themselves,” Eliza says. She looks at Gil. “Major General, are you helping or leaving?”

Peggy’s eyes widen. “ _Liz_.”

Gil’s smile is wry; evidently, he’s encountered Eliza in surgery gear before. Businesslike, brisk, and absolutely not giving a shit as to whether she’s given offence. A stark contrast from her generally encouraging, sweet disposition.

“I was just bringing your sister to you. _Au revoir,_ Eliza.”

The next wave of patients: a broken nose that Peggy bandages; lacerations that mostly need a little alcohol to sterilise it, and maybe a stitch or two, God _bless_ her mother for teaching her embroidery and how to hold a needle steady from the age of four.

It takes a while, but Eliza eventually breathes out. “There. That’s the last of ‘em.” She takes Peggy's hand and starts leading her away from the men, who are beginning to stream back to their huts.

Peggy shakes her head. “How do you do it?”

“With difficulty,” Eliza admits. “But I’m so glad to see you.”

Peggy hugs her tight, burying her face in her sister’s coat shoulder. She still smells the same. Ethanol, the homemade lemon-scented water Mama made for her hair, and wood-smoke and blood. _Eliza_. The weight of her arms around Peggy is reassuring. It reminds her of years past: when she was six and had skinned her knee, and thirteen and overwhelmed by her first blood. Years later, and she’s still Peggy’s safe place to run.

“How are you?” Eliza asks, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Peggy chokes. God, she’s _missed_ her.

“I mean – I thought I was okay,” she admits in a small voice.

“Oh, Peg,” Eliza murmurs, her arms tightening around her. “I wish I’d shot him.”

Peggy sniffs, tears burning at her eyes. “I do too. But it’s not just him. I thought I needed to get away. I didn’t realise how much I’d miss Mama, or Papa, or Corny, or Kitty. Maybe this was a mistake.”

Eliza hums. “I don’t think so. You’re homesick. But you were wilting at home. You need to be a part of the action, use your gifts where they’ll be needed. You _like_ being useful, Peggy-girl.”

“Damn Dutch upbringing,” Peggy mumbles, and Eliza laughs.

“Ah, well. There are worse fates in the world. The homesickness will pass. And – give it a shot. I think you might be surprised.” She steps back, holding Peggy by one shoulder, dabbing at Peggy’s tears with the corner of her sleeve and then wincing. “Uh–”

Peggy sighs. “Don’t tell me. There’s blood on my face now.”

Eliza’s smile is sheepish. “I’m sorry?”

Peggy pokes her tongue out at her. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Eliza shakes her head, her smile widening. “I’m lucky you love me, Peggy-girl.” Her smile is warm, as she links her arm through Peggy’s. “C’mon. Where’s your ship docked? We can go grab your things.”

* * *

“Ya nincompoopa!”

“Hi, Uncle,” Peggy said, yanking her beanie off and stripping off her gloves, the warmth of the cabin hitting her. “How are you?”

“You had to come to be an engineer, didntcha, instead of just staying home and looking after my poor brother-in-law,” he mumbles, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“He hasn’t been drinking the anaesthetic again, has he?” Peggy stage whispers to Eliza, who’s shaking her head in amusement.

“Uncle John, lay off of her. The General himself is very pleased with how her assignment’s gone.”

“And we’re delighted to see you,” her Aunt says, from further inside the room. Peggy hands her coat on the hook, and walks into the room. The entire cabin is only two rooms, one where they sleep and eat, and the other the kitchen. The door to the outside is set in the far right corner of the room, between the wall and the fireplace, making it a narrow fit. Opposite it is a green bedroll; Alexander’s, it’s gotta be. Uncle John returns to his seat on the double-bed beside Auntie Gita.

“Thanks, Auntie,” Peggy says, kissing her on the cheek as well, setting her pack down beside the green bedroll. “You sure it’s not too much for me to stay here?”

Aunt Gita waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, child. It’s good to see your face.”

“Besides, Alex has had stranger bedfellows before,” Eliza says, smiling. “He had to share with Colonel Burr once.”

Peggy almost chokes on a laugh. “ _Aaron_ Burr?”

“The very same,” Eliza grins. “I’m told neither of them slept. Too busy arguing.”

Peggy shakes her head, taking a swig of the drink that her Uncle pressed into her hands, and almost spitting it out reflexively. _“Mmph!”_ She swallows it, her eyes and throat burning. “ _Uncle!”_

He laughs. “First assignment down, soldier girl! That means you get your first drink of rum.”

“You’ll turn her into a pirate,” Aunt Gita says. “Come on, let’s get you settled in. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I’m _fine_ , Auntie.”

“I’m not,” Eliza says. “Sleep sounds like an _excellent_ plan to me.”

Peggy’s eyebrows rise. “You’re not needed for anything else today?”

Eliza shakes her head. “No. Thank God, too. There’s a diptheria outbreak among the 3rd Brigade.”

“Is it treatable?”

Eliza blows a lock of her hair out of her face. “Yeah, mostly. Except for a couple of cases. It’s _quarantining_ people that’s the really fucked part. Everyone’s in each other’s pockets. You need _space_ to stop the spread of a disease. It’s a contact-spread disease.”

Peggy kisses the top of her head. There aren’t any words that will ease Eliza’s heartache for the patients she loses. There never has been. All she can do is just hold her, and sing lullabies until they fall asleep, Uncle John’s quiet words to Aunt Gita in the background.

* * *

“Peggy, _Peggy.”_ Someone’s shaking her awake, and she groans. “Sshh. Peggy, c’mon, wake up.”

She opens her eyes, to see Alex kneeling at her side. “Alexander?” she whispers. There’s snoring – Eliza, she’s still asleep. “C’mon,” he whispers.

“This better be good,” she grumbles, sitting up, blinking blearily. The fire’s gone lower in the fireplace; her Uncle and Aunt are nowhere to be seen. Probably out tending to patients whilst Eliza sleeps. Doctors and nurses are rare commodities among the army at Valley Forge.

“Unless you want your sister to not realise it's a proposal when I take my shot?”

“ _Goddammit,”_ Peggy grumbles, god _damn_ culture clashes to the ninth circle of hell, but she gets up. Eliza stirs a little, making a noise of protest. Peggy smooths her hair. “Go back to sleep, Liz.”

“Peg?” Eliza blinks. “‘S wrong? Patient?”

“No patients,” Peggy assures her. “You just need to sleep.”

“Oh…” Eliza nods, rolling back over. Alex exhales slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. Peggy jerks her head towards the door, and rises, walking near silently across the floor, grabbing her coat and gloves on the way out. Alex, by contrast, winces after every footfall. Thankfully, though, Eliza’s become a champion sleeper since she's taken up the life of an army surgeon.

“Alright. Proposal. How do I do this, Peggy?”

Peggy hums, trying not to get distracted by the rather spectacular sunset. “You’re going to need ribbon, wine, and flowers. You’ve picked a terrible time of year for it.”

“Flowers?”

Peggy nods. “You have to weave a flower crown that you give to Eliza. Shows the fact that you’ve chosen her. Ribbon, to tie your hands together. And if she accepts, she needs to give you wine to drink.”

“...Saint Croix’s traditions were simpler,” Alex mumbles. “We just stick to rings.”

“There’s still leaves on the pine trees,” Peggy muses aloud. “It’ll be trickier to weave them together, but not impossible. Ribbon–”

“I’ve got a hair ribbon,” Alex says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Wine, though, wine’s tricky. Most of it’s rationed for anaesthetic.”

“You don’t need much,” Peggy argues. “Just a cup. It’s for an engagement, and the General–” she cuts herself off. _The General thinks of you like a son._ Hamilton is charming, but his pride is a sore point of mammoth proportions.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“The General has a reputation for being a romantic?” she attempts.

Hamilton’s eyebrow rises further, as if establishing that yes, she really had just said that the General on whom the entire Independence movement hinged was a romantic, and then he laughs, hard enough that he slaps his knee. “Oh, my Peggy, it is a _very_ good thing you aren’t assigned to the Diplomatic Corps.”

She winces. “That obvious, huh?”

“Yes,” he says, grinning. “And as much as I dislike being seen as an extension of Washington– I think I can endure prevailing on his good will for Eliza’s engagement. She is, after all, my better angel.”

Peggy feels her smile shrinking a bit at that. She hates it when men put their lovers on pedestals. Fleury had done it all the time, and she wonders now if the elaborateness of the surface of their relationship – lots of terms of endearments, lots of compliments – had been directly correlated to the total lack of any kind of foundation. “She’s a person, Alex. She’d be the first to tell you she’s not a saint.”

“And the only one,” Alex retorts.

Okay, that was true. Everyone _did_ tend to think of Eliza as a saint. But did Alex really get it?

“She doubts. She hopes. She can be angry, sad, petulant sometimes,” she reminds him.

“I know,” Alex admits, his eyes softening. “I know that. But – even at her worst, she inspires me to be my best.”

Peggy lets out a sigh. “Well. Then you have my blessing,” she says, linking her arm through his. “Come on, let’s go to the General. We can collect the pine leaves on the way back.”

They walk back through the camp, Alex waving at the various men who calls out to him along the way, pointing out the names of some of the officers to Peggy. She tries committing them to memory, but after a while, they blur. She just doesn’t have Angelica’s encyclopedic memory for faces and details.

They are halfway to Washington’s headquarters when they encounter him and someone wearing the star of an aide-de-camp beside him leading his horse through the woods.

“Lieutenant Colonel, Private,” he nods at them, surprise hidden quickly beneath the gracious mask. _What a marvellous diplomat_ _he’d make_ , Peggy muses. “What brings you this way?”

Alex takes a deep breath. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

A raise of the formidable graying eyebrows from Washington. “Granted,” he says, and Peggy thinks she can hear both caution and amusement in that rich voice.

“I’m doing it. I’m proposing to Eliza tonight,” he says. “But I need a favour.”

“Well, out with it, man,” Washington says.

“Special dispensation for a cup of wine?”

“Ah.” Washington’s glance at Peggy is quick. “Albanyan tradition?”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Dispensation is granted, Lieutenant Colonel, Private,” Washington says. “Tilghman stands as an independent witness.”

The aide-de-camp nods, a bland look on his face. Probably suppressing amusement. “Yes, sir.”

Washington’s face breaks out into a grin. Several teeth are missing, which Peggy bites back a smile at seeing. Somehow, it makes the revered General so much more human.

“Well, get to it, man! I’m amazed the girl has waited this long,” he orders Alex.

“Yes, sir!” Alex says, and Peggy smirks at the delighted grin appearing on Alex’s face.

 _Liz, he’d better make you happy_ , she thinks.

“Will you please slow down?” she asks Alex. “Not all of us are as tall as you are.”

“It’s not my fault you’re tiny,” he laughs, but he obligingly slows down a bit, long enough for her to catch up at least. “I’m glad you’re here, Peggy,” he adds, with a smile, taking the sting out of the insult.

She smiles back. “I missed you too,” she admits.

“Fleury’s an idiot.”

Her smile shrinks. “Alex–” she begins, but trying to stop her soon-to-be brother-in-law, once his first opening salvo has been fired, is...well.

“Listen to me. You are brilliant, and beautiful, and wonderful. And one of these days, a cleverer man, with the insight to see it, is going to come along. That’s all I’m going to say.”

She scoffs. “Now _there’s_ a sentence I never thought you’d say.”

He grins. “You’ve got me there,” he admits, as they turn to the left to the quartermaster’s house.

There’s a faint sound. “ _Get those unloaded_ –” and she feels a chill go down her spine. No. No, they couldn’t be.

 _They damn well could be,_ cold logic informs her.

Immediately, Peggy reaches out and claps one hand over Alex’s mouth, as he draws breath to hail the house. Or, perhaps, to enquire what the hell she thinks she’s doing.

“Wait here,” she tells him.

“Why the hell?” he hisses.

“Ssh! I think there’s something illicit going on. I’m going to sneak closer and find out.”

Alex removes his rifle from where it’s slung over his shoulder and hands it to her. “You’re not armed, are you?”

She’s not; she doesn’t even have her tool belt.

“Hopefully I don’t have to use it,” she says. She walks forward, a silent shadow over the snow, as she approaches the wall of the cabin, hiding behind it and peeking out.

She bites back a curse. Yes, there’s Quartermaster Reynolds, unstacking the ingots they’d put in their boxes. He takes out several, and then weighs something in his hand – a two-by-four – before putting it back in, and stacking the ingots on top of it.

He is decimating the supplies. Taking out a fraction and then replacing the weight with something else. The most elementary smuggling trick in the world, but he hopes that things would be just slack enough that he could get away with it.

The boxes are on the snow, beside a wagon that another man is loading. A woman is beside them both, keeping look-out. She’s very beautiful, except for the black eye that she’s sporting. And she isn’t muscled enough to be a soldier, or an engineer.

 _So. A brute, as well as a thief. He gets better and better,_ she thinks.

She sneaks back to Alex. “I was right,” she says. “Reynolds is stealing some of the food supplies we brought in, and then putting wood slots in to compensate for the weight.”

Alex swears, and then gestures at the rifle. “Can you shoot this?”

Peggy swallows and nods. She’s got a good eye. She can shoot. Even though it might be fatal for the other man at night.

Alex nods. “I’ll go round and distract them. You cut them off at the exit. Were they armed?”

“Reynolds has some two-by-fours. I think his friend might have had a knife,” she whispers. “Be _careful_.”

Alex wrinkles his nose at her. “I’d have worse from sparring with Lafayette, probably.”

With that, he adjusts the holster for his knife, sticks one hand in his pocket and walks into the house. “Mr Reynolds! Hello!”

She runs to the side of the house, sprinting, she _has_ to get there in time.

“So good to see you again,” she can hear Alex saying, laying on the charm. “Oh, who’s this? Good to see you, ma’am.”

 _God, you’re obvious,_ she thinks as she slides along the side of her house, peeking out. There’s Reynolds’ accomplice. She aims the rifle carefully. She doesn’t want to kill him, not outright, but – they _have_ to keep these supplies.

 _Stealing from the Army is punishable by a severe flogging._ _Racketeering, by death. This man is guilty of both._

She takes a deep breath.

 _I still don’t want to, though_ , a tiny little part of her protests.

She closes her eyes.

_God forgive me._

No wind. Good. This model has a tendency to jerk up after you squeeze the trigger. Aim for – yes, the left arm would do.

She shoots, and the bullet flies true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all didn't see that coming? Yeah, me neither.
> 
> Let me know what you're thinking!


	3. Someone in a Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is hell: round 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It deeply amuses me that all of the historical slaveholders are people of colour in the musical, even in something like Peggy (who was a slaveholder) being played by Jasmine Cephas-Jones. I figured it was only fair to do the same with Martha Washington.

He screams, grabbing at his left shoulder, the crate falling from where it had been balanced on his right arm, tumbling onto the snow. The horse doesn’t bolt, thank God, just lets out a fearful whinny. There’s the sound of a punch from inside the house, and Alex’s voice declaring, “James Reynolds, you’re under arrest for suspicion of racketeering. Damn, I’ve always wanted to say that– hey, where you goin’?!”

 _The woman’s escaping_. Peggy sprints to the man struggling in the snow, and, feeling a twinge of guilt at the hopeful expression on his face as she gets closer – he clearly hasn’t realised that she’s the one who shot him – clobbers him with the butt of the rifle. He flinches, and tries to stagger to his feet, but his balance is off, he’s no athlete, and so she swings the butt of the rifle at his face again, hard.

Peggy’s tiny, but she’s all muscle, and he goes down, just as the back door of the cabin slams.

She points the rifle at the woman.

“Stop right there, miss,” she orders, her voice quivering. God dammit. She knows it’s her first action, but she’d hoped she could keep her voice steady.

The woman’s hands go up. Good, she’s got some sense. “I swear, this wasn’t my idea,” she says.

“I’m sure,” Peggy says, even as Alex emerges out the back door, and grabs the woman’s wrists, binding them together with some rope.

“I _mean it!_ I – I never wanted to–”

“Mrs Reynolds, if you’re innocent, I’ve no doubt you’ll be acquitted of all charges,” Alex says. “I know a woman who’ll stand as your defence. But you’ve got to come with us.” His glance drifts to the cart. “And I know just how we’re going to move.”

“The wine, Alex,” Peggy reminds him.

He holds up a flask. “Got it right here.”

“You _hypocrite_.”

“On the contrary–” he pauses.

“Maria. Maria Reynolds,” she says.

“On the contrary, Mrs Reynolds. The flask is for the doctor of the camp. It’s very much needed as an anaesthetic, as you know well.”

...oh, Angelica would applaud. That was beautiful. Every single word, the strict truth. Whilst being totally misleading as to what that flask of wine would be used for.

“Speaking of camp, we should take them to the General. Or...whoever,” Peggy says, wincing at how inexperienced she sounds.

Alex nods. “To the General. Miss, if you’d be so kind as to get into the cart.”

“I think we can find a better place for you than with that jackass,” Peggy adds.

“Peggy,” Alex says, his voice a little chiding for her impulsive addition. She rolls her eyes. _Honestly, Alex._ He can’t talk at all.

There’s something in Maria’s face that looks like hope.

“I wouldn’t have to go back to James?”

Peggy shakes her head.

“And my daughter?”

Peggy’s eyebrows shoot up. “You have a daughter?”

“Susan. She’s nine months old, still feeding, she’s napping now,” Maria says, the words tumbling from her mouth rapidly.

“I’ll get her, as soon as we get everyone else in the cart,” Alex says, shrugging. “Simple solution.”

Peggy schools her features. If Maria _isn’t_ declared innocent, there’ll be an orphan on their hands.

_Come on. The black eye on her face is obvious to anyone with eyes._

It takes Peggy and Alex working together to heave Reynolds and the accomplice into the cart, and Peggy can feel Maria’s anxiety swelling with every passing minute. She shouldn’t worry, though. The second Reynolds is in the cart, Alex disappears back into the house and reappears with an angry, squalling baby in his arm. He grimaces, as he hands her to Maria.

“Sorry,” he apologises. “I guess I have a scary face.”

Maria doesn’t respond, immediately wrapping the baby in her coat. Peggy checks the harness of the horse. “What about the gunshot wound?” she asks. “I shot him.”

“I noticed,” Alex says. Translation: _I’m not planning to do anything about that. Are you?_

Peggy swallows. _It’s a war_ , she reminds herself. _He was stealing supplies hundreds of soldiers need._

...He needs to stay alive long enough for justice to be done, though.

She climbs into the back and wraps the scarf tightly around the wound, before climbing in next to Maria. There’s blood on her fingertips now.

The ride to Headquarters is filled with the sobs of Maria’s daughter.

* * *

 

“Fidelis,” Peggy says, to the guard outside Washington’s headquarters. God _dammit_ , why does winter always have to be so cold on this planet?

He gives her an extremely dubious look, but stands aside, and she helps Maria into the warmth of headquarters, whilst he goes to help Alex bring the men in.

“Sweet Lord! What happened?”

The demand is concerned, almost motherly, and Peggy feels another wave of homesickness, because there’s only one woman that kind of cry would come from.

“Nothing major, Mrs Washington. At least not to me,” she says. She’s not sure if the same can really be said of Maria. Peggy clears her throat. “Is the General here?”

“In his study,” Martha Washington says. Her hair is silvering at the temples now, and her dark skin gleams in the firelight of headquarters. “But my dear, they’re discussing the next attack–”

“We have an urgent case, ma’am,” Alex says, heaving Reynolds into the hallway, as well as his accomplice. The accomplice stirs a little; his blood has soaked through Peggy’s scarf. “These men were caught pilfering some of the supplies from Rochambeau that were brought in today. We suspect them of intending to steal them for a profit.”

“They were. James had a contact – I can give you the name – and they were going to sell it for as much as they could get.”

Mrs Washington’s gaze is keen as it lands on Maria, who had just spoken. Maria swallows, but doesn’t flinch beneath the scrutiny.

“How long has he been beating you?” Mrs Washington asks.

Maria chokes on a laugh, as she rocks her daughter. “Since the beginning, ma’am.”

“Dear God,” Mrs Washington says. She takes Maria’s hands. “Come with me. And tell me everything. It may be that I can speak for you.”

Peggy lets out a slow sigh, as they walk into the sitting room. Maria’s in good hands, then.

Alexander walks to the door of the General’s study. “Sir!”

The door is flung open. “Alexandre,” Lafayette says, “come in–”

“Major-General,” Alex says, saluting, and Lafayette frowns. “We need you and the General and – General Knox is here too? Perfect. Then we have a quorum.”

Lafayette’s slide across to Peggy, and she flushes.

“Private Schuyler, we meet again,” he says, with a startled look. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment–”

She nods, as she kneels to bind both men’s feet. Alex walks into the room with Lafayette. Before the door closes behind of them, she sees Lafayette cast a curious look in her direction.

She hears Alex’s voice, but she can’t make out the words. She rocks back on her feet, leans against the wall, and glances at the prisoners. The accomplice is stirring, and she checks the scarf. It’s bound tightly across his arm, and the bleeding seems to have slowed.

 _Here’s to hoping he keeps his arm,_ is her first thought, before a little voice that sounds like Angelica says: _Yes, if he has to die, best do it with both hands._

“They were doing _what?”_

Lafayette’s bellow carries very clearly through the door of the study. Peggy raises her eyebrows. Huh. So _that’s_ what happens when that gentleman comes to the end of his fuse.

The officers stalk out of the study, looking like nothing less than a pack of enraged wolves, and she salutes. Badly, again.

“Stand easy, Private,” the General says. “Would you please tell me what happened, in your own words?”

She casts an uncertain glance at Alex. He nods, his eyes softening for a moment. _Go on, Pegs._

She swallows. “Well, sir, we went to the quartermaster, for the wine, with your dispensation, and when we got there, I heard something. One of the men saying something like – ah, I think it might have been ‘get those unloaded.’ I wasn’t sure if it was licit or not. So I decided to get closer, take a look, with Alex’s – Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton’s rifle in hand. I looked around the side of the cabin and I saw Mr Reynolds unstacking the ingots from the food supply we brought in this morning. And replacing a layer of them with wooden cast-offs, so that they’d weigh the same. It’s an old smuggling trick, sir.”

“Go on, Private.”

She winces. “Yes, sir. Anyway, I went back to Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton, told him what was going on. I suggested that he distract them, being somewhat louder than me–”

Lafayette abruptly lifts a hand to cover his mouth, and she flushes. That had sounded better in her head.

“So I went around the side of the house, shot Reynolds’ accomplice – that’s the man with the scarf on his arm, sir, he was loading one crate into the cart when I got there – and then we brought them here.” She hesitates. _What about Maria?_ “Sir, he has a daughter. Reynolds, I mean. Nine months. And the mother – I think she was coerced.”

Washington holds up a hand. “Thank you for your account, Private. We’ll take it into consideration.” He turns to the others. “So, gentlemen. Your thoughts?”

“The _Code_ says that stealing from supplies is punishable by severe flogging. That anyone selling them should be executed,” Alexander says with a shrug. “It’s that simple, Your Excellency.”

“We have to hold this Army together,” Lafayette says. “Monsieur Reynolds knows how crucial these supplies are. To knowingly and willfully steal from them – he cannot be trusted. And we must make it clear that this will not be tolerated.”

Peggy looks at the blood staining her formerly yellow scarf, and swallows. They are arguing over _lives_.

 _This is a war,_ she reminds herself. _We can’t have traitors._

She closes her eyes.

General Knox speaks next. “I believe we should interview Mrs Reynolds, and ask for her perspective.”

Peggy nods and stands. “I’ll go get her.”

“Thank you, Private,” the General says.

She walks into the sitting room. “Excuse me, Mrs Washington? Maria? The General wants to talk to you both,” she says.

Mrs Washington looks at her and nods. “Would you like to sit down by the fire? You look unwell, Private.”

Peggy swallows and shakes her head. She _feels_ unwell, feels dizzy with how far out of control the evening has spun. _I was thinking about how to braid a flower crown an hour ago,_ she realises.

“No, ma’am. I’m fine,” she lies.

Mrs Washington’s steady dark brown eyes say: _Don’t try and fool me, girl._ But she nods, and sweeps back into the foyer of the house. “General Washington, General Knox, Major-General, Lieutenant Colonel,” she greets.

“Do you intend to speak for her, Martha?”

She nods. Peggy leans back, studying the tableau, her heart in her mouth. Mrs Washington doesn’t seemed at all fazed though. Her soft drawl seems totally incongruous with the scene.

“This is Maria Reynolds. She’s eighteen.” Peggy shivers. Maria’s barely older two years older than Corny, and she already has a child, a tiny life she is totally responsible for. Eighteen, and she’s already suffered abuse at the hand of the man who was supposed to cherish and protect her.

_Oh, God._

“She married James Reynolds last year. He’s been abusive since the beginning. The black eye, he gave her this morning, because she protested about his plan to smuggle supplies, knowing of the harsh penalties if they were caught. She says that he planned to sell the supplies at a profit to a Jim Carew.”

Peggy winces. It _fits_ , dammit. It’s no secret that anyone caught stealing supplies will be dealt with harshly. And it fits with how fresh that bruise is as well.

Lafayette curses. Clearly, he’s put the pieces together as well.

“Why didn’t you leave him?” he asks Maria, pure bafflement in those gorgeous eyes.

Peggy stifles a sigh. It’s a terrible question, honestly.

Maria’s smile is bitter. “Where would I have gone?”

General Washington’s question is different. His eyes are grave, as they settle on his wife. “You believe her?”

Mrs Washington smiles. “She loves her daughter, and would do nothing to endanger her. Certainly not by risking making her an orphan. Yes, I believe that she was coerced.”

“As do I,” Alex says.

Peggy looks at him, startled. He waves a hand in a chopping, dismissive motion to the side: _I'll explain_ _later._ She nods.

“I too,” Lafayette says, and something hard and cold inside of Peggy unclenches. She’s not sure her impressions of Lafayette from that morning would have survived if he’d come to a different conclusion.

“There is no-one to care for an orphan, and we can’t shoot the child in cold blood. We shall have to find something useful for you to do, Miss,” General Knox says, decisively.

Yes, it’s definitely hope in Maria’s face.

“Tilghman has gone with the lists to cross-check your testimony, Colonel Hamilton,” General Washington says. “If your report is correct, we’ll execute them when Tilghman comes back.”

It’s his tone, in the end, so utterly matter of fact, that sends Peggy bolting for the front door, sprinting for the snow and retching into it. Two men are going to die in a matter of hours or less, two men are going to be executed, and – it’ll be her fault.

“ _Peggy!”_ she hears a shout from inside, and soon, there’s someone by her side, rubbing her back gently, holding her hair back. “It’s okay, Peggy,” Alex says. “It’s okay.”

She shudders, from the stench of her vomit on the snow in front of her, from the freezing temperature, from the fact that her scarf will never be yellow again, from the fact that she’s killed two men tonight.

“War is hell,” is all Alex says, when he meets her eyes, seeing her horror. He offers her a sip from his canteen. “Rinse and spit.”

She drinks, carefully holding the canteen a few inches from her lips. It wouldn’t do for Alex to get sick. Then she spits it out into the snow again.

“Good, that’s it, Peggy,” Alex coaxes, still in that soft tone from earlier. Like he’s trying to calm a spooking horse. “You did good.” She shakes her head, and he laughs. “No, really. You’ve kept your head so well today, I would have taken you for a soldier at points. You’ve done very well.”

“They’re going to die.”

“Yes,” Alex replies, equally blunt. “They’re going to die, and everyone will know that racketeering and stealing supplies and _treason_ won’t be tolerated. It’s war, Peggy. Where we balance two lives against thousands, and thousands win.”

She closes her eyes. “Shit.”

Alex nods, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Yep.”

“When will it happen?”

“The execution? As soon as Tilghman gets back. He should be on his way back now.”

She flinches. “Even if they’re not conscious by that time?”

He nods. “Even so. It’s kinder than other things we could do.”

Nausea rises in her throat again and she calls to mind the mental picture of the supplies. _120 ingots per box. Three boxes. Each ingot able to feed a squad for two weeks._ The supplies that the Army desperately, _desperately_ needed.

“Do you want to go back to Eliza?” he asks. “It’s not far from here. You’ve done your duty.”

Peggy shakes her head. “It’s a war. I helped start this. I have to watch how it ends. I owe that to– to _myself_.”

Alex nods, and helps her up.

* * *

She’s not sure how much time passes, as Reynolds wakes up and pleads his innocence unconvincingly. Especially when Tilghman comes in more than halfway through his attempt to insult Alexander, with the lists clutched in his hand.

“Hamilton’s right, sir,” Tilghman says. “At least a fifth of the cargo was removed from the crates, and replaced with wood.”

Washington nods. “Outside.”

Lafayette grabs Reynolds, and Hamilton and Tilghman grab his accomplice. Both the men are bound hand and foot. General Knox grabs an oil lamp in each hand. They haul them into the clearing, lit only by the lamps and the pale moonlight and Washington draws his sword, as Alex stands near Peggy.

Washington’s sword blurs, and blood spurts from Reynolds’ neck. Then the accomplice’s. It’s done so quickly that neither of them have time to voice a protest.

She feels the nausea rise in her throat again, and swallows it down. She turns to Mrs Washington, who stands beside her, with steady, mournful eyes.

“Is there a shovel anywhere?” Peggy asks, her voice shaking.

Mrs Washington nods, and disappears back into the house. Peggy feels eyes on her. She looks up to see Lafayette’s eyes.

“You intend to bury them, Private?” he asks.

She lifts her chin. “They’re not – they _weren’t_ animals. Sir.”

Lafayette nods, as Martha Washington comes back with two shovels. He steps forward, taking one from her hand and handing the other to Peggy.

“ _D’accord._ Allow me to help.”

“Let me know when you need a spell, Peggy,” Alex says, clapping her on the shoulder.

She nods, and starts digging.

“You are full of surprises, Marguerite,” Lafayette says, as he digs in. They’re standing four feet apart from each other, just wide enough that both men can be buried. They’ll need to go about four feet deep, she thinks. And she’s not sure how much snow is on the ground. “In one day, you have helped save desperately needed supplies from ruin _twice_ , deeply impressed the General in the process, made Hamilton keep quiet, and gotten covered in blood.”

“What?”

“There’s blood on your face. And your gloves.”

“Oh.” She feels her neck heat. “It’s not mine. Eliza – that is to say – it got on me when I was helping her treat the patients.” It’s mostly true. And doesn’t expose her sister as being clumsy enough to accidentally wipe blood on someone’s cheek. “I guess I’ll have to wash the handle of this spade, though.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Lafayette says. “The spade won’t see a lot of use for a while.”

The absurdity of it is just _too_ _much._ She starts shaking, giggling laughter erupting in her throat. She’s standing three inches deep in snow, burying bodies that _she’s_ helped put in the ground, with blood on her face and gloves, and blushing like a schoolgirl because she’s had the idiocy to be attracted to a _Major General_.

“Oh, _fuck_ , this is a mess,” she says, tears starting to slip down her face, as she digs the spade into the snow.

“That’s war, my friend.”

“I think I hate it.”

“I know,” Lafayette says.

“I was wondering how I’d make a flower crown earlier,” she says, putting her foot down on the spade again. Fuck, _fuck_ , she’s babbling, what is she doing? “Before – all this started.” She heaves the load out of the shovel. They’ve hit dirt, finally. “Alex has to make a flower crown for Eliza.”

“Is that so?” Lafayette asks.

“For when he proposes to her. He has to give her a crown, she has to give him wine if she accepts it, and then they both need ribbon to tie their hands together.” She swallows. “Winter’s a bad time of year to propose.”

“There’s a grove of hollies not far from here,” Lafayette says. “Would that serve?”

She nods. “Maybe you could point me to it, when we’re done here?”

Once the words are off her tongue, she cringes. He’s not on leave. He’s probably _very_ busy. He has more important things to do, almost certainly.

“It would be my pleasure,” Lafayette says, and she can’t see his face well in the flickering light of the lamp, but his voice sounds sincere.

It takes them an hour to dig the grave and roll the corpses into it. Covering the graves over again is a more simple process.

By the end of it, her back is shrieking in protest, and her hands are frozen inside her gloves. She lingers by the grave for a moment longer, and swallows.

It’s not their souls she’s worried about in this moment. Not really. It’s her own.

“Gracious God, have mercy on me,” she whispers.

Lafayette murmurs his assent beside her, and picks up the shovels. “Did you want to see the hollies?”

She nods, picking up the lamp.

He guides her to the back of the Headquarters, and there, about twenty-five yards to the north-east, she sees them. A grove of hollies, their berries already in bloom.

There’s still flowers in the world. Even in the winter.

Carefully, she grips one of the boughs firmly and snaps it off. Then another. Then another. There, that should be enough stems.

“You should come inside,” Lafayette says quietly. “We don’t want you to freeze, Peggy.”

He takes one of her hands in his, and she lets him lead her back into the headquarters.


End file.
